


You Have No Power Over Me

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Labyrinth AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have No Power Over Me

“Honestly Master you’ve had some convoluted schemes but this one really takes the biscuit! Penrose Stairs? Really?”

“Oh it’s far more complicated than that Doctor.” The Master smirked. “And I’d hurry up if I were you; the clock is ticking. Come and take it from me.”

The Doctor went pale, for a second, his face almost the colour of the celery pinned to the front of his cricket shirt lapels. He paused for a second, trying to find the best way to reach the Master several feet above him, then leaped onto to the first rung of the criss-crossing labyrinth of steps. He glanced over his shoulder, checking what he was fighting for; if he didn’t reach the Master before ‘time ran out’, then he could say goodbye to the natural terraform-ing of the planet Deva Loka for good. The peace-loving residents – a telepathic race known as the Kinda – had no idea what had hit them, when the Master found the perfect place to play with the Doctor’s sensitivities and guilty conscience. A bomb was placed over the canopy behind him, through the open door he had just run through, and the Master’s transdimensional labyrinth was as much in his mind as the bomb was so very real. The Doctor had no doubt that it wasn’t the Master’s plan for the Doctor to get through the maze. No: There was something else that he wanted the Doctor to do. He’d just have to figure out what.

“That’s a new look for you, Master.”

The Master was smug as a cat with a mouse, stroking his beard and pacing at the top of the supposedly impossible staircase. The Doctor reminded himself that on no uncertain terms was anything ever impossible, just improbable. He had to think like Alice and think of five impossible things before- Well, he’d had breakfast already. Before winning. It was always a sort of twisted game with the Master, who was currently dressed in tight leather trousers – far too tight, said a voice at the back of the Doctor’s head, but he cowed it with a blush – and a thespian’s white shirt. The sleeves seemed to flare and of course the Master was still wearing those smooth gloves of his; the Doctor wondered if he even slept in them, and found himself blushing again. The look was pulled off with a strangely buttoned brown waistcoat, large piratical boots and a strange croissant-shaped pendant that reminded the Doctor of the celery he always wore.

It suited the Master, yes, but the Doctor couldn’t help but find it familiar, as though the Master had drawn the look from a film, or a book they’d both once read. He tugged on the front of his cream coat, and took the steps three at a time, a ringing in his head suggesting that he was very close to going backwards if he carried on this way. He stopped, and stared at the Master, almost pouting.

“Something the matter Doctor?” The rapport came as second nature to them both, playing with words as only a Time Lord could.

“No, no... Just taking the scenic route, that’s all.” He took another step again – determined not to be defeated by this tomfoolery – and his hat fell off his head, landing an impossible – no, improbable! – distance below him on the ground. The Doctor spared it a longing look before continuing to climb, careful to keep the Master distracted, occupied. Part of this maze was telepathic, after all, built especially for the Doctor; even the Master couldn’t have built a structure like this on Deva Loka without the Kinda or the Shadow Proclamation noticing. It had taken him hours to reach the Master but he’d had that nag at the back of his mind all the way. “What’s the point in all this? Really?”

“As always your peril rather amuses me.” The Master studied the tips of his gloved fingers with apparent interest, licking his lips. He continued to pace the top of the labyrinth, a small glass ball rolling back and forwards over his fingers. The Doctor had to tear his gaze away from how the light retracted and bent around the glass like magic. It had to be the detonator for the bomb? What else? So captivated was he by the glass sphere that his knees dropped to the sandstone, grazing painfully, and the Master only laughed.

But when the Doctor pulled himself - wincing – back to his feet, his appearance had changed. Like the Master’s almost David Bowie like attire the Doctor was dressed in jeans – jeans?! – and a longer white shirt, intricate gold waistcoat matching the gold trainers that he now wore. He blinked then forced himself to move on. He’d fought Omega before, and this kind of trickery would have been child’s play to him! The Master was capable of so much more. “But your complete and utter inability to comprehend the glaring obvious, Doctor, infuriates me!”

“How did you escape the Tomb of Rassilon, Master?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The Master’s expression turned dark and the Doctor didn’t question him on the events of their last meeting again. Although admittedly the whole affair – or at least, the Master’s part in it – was to all intents and purposes his own fault. If he hadn’t entered the Death Zone, he wouldn’t have gotten into trouble. If he hadn’t asked for immortality, then the ghost of Rassilon would never have ‘punished’ him. The Master was not the kind to talk of his problems nor his failures and so the Doctor doubted he would ever get the full story of what happened after he left, not unless he went back to ask the Tomb of Rassilon for answers. Well, he’d seen what happened if you did that and he wasn’t quite ready to regenerate or become a part of the Tomb yet himself, no!

“Get moving, Doctor, you are trying my patience.” None of what had happened meant that the Doctor didn’t feel bad about it. His past selves might not have worried what happened to the Master (or at least pretended that they didn’t) but he had.

The Doctor obeyed, both his feet and his mind racing faster. He was starting to breathe more heavily, holding onto the walls of the staircases as they climbed and dipped in impossible concentric loops. The Time Lord fell silent for a moment, a little hurt that the Master had snapped at him; he really had no reason to take offence at something that happened every time they met. But for some reason, that they hadn’t met since they’d been allies was playing havoc with the Doctor’s moral compass. The needle which usually pointed firmly North and kept him doing what he felt was right was beginning to spin in the Master’s direction – not for his actions, but for his emotions.

He hated the idea that he might darken, and become as bitter and power-crazed as his rival, but maybe with the right... Trickery, and the right... Words, he could bring his enemy back to the light. The way they had once been, on Gallifrey with red grass and two shining moons and the three golden suns rising over Lake Abydos and Mount Perdition... The Doctor scowled, not wanting to think about the planet he hadn’t visited – on good terms – in far too long. He knew better than anyone that to dwell on the past was foolish.

He reached the top and turned, a huge grin on his face, only to realize that the Master was now below him. The Doctor’s face fell as the Master began to laugh almost maniacally, putting his head in one hand and shaking it slowly. “Pathetic, Doctor.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want?” The Master seemed surprised by the question. His laughter tapered out. “What do I want? A lot of things.” He stroked his beard again, stepping onto the stair nearest to him and climbing calmly up. The Doctor stood still, leaning in an act of nonchalance against the sandy chalk wall and watching the Master approach. Within a few minutes, the other Time Lord was standing only a few inches from him, the glass ball balanced on the back of his head and a thoughtful expression on his face. “Right now I want you to do as I say.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Oh it is it?” The Master’s eyes narrowed, no longer quite so amused. He stalked closer, reaching into the back of his waistcoat to pull out his TCE. He practically stroked the slim black metal, as if not sure if he wanted to use it or not. The Doctor stayed where he was, uncannily good at judging the Master’s mood. He was safe, for now, or at least as safe as he could be around the Master, but he wasn’t about to push his luck by pressing matters or pressing closer without being told. At least the bomb hadn’t yet been detonated. At least he didn’t have a companion to worry about. At least the staircase wasn’t crumbling beneath them both. “Or did you just not understand?”

“I don’t-“

“Honestly Doctor it’s easier than quark dimensional physics! ‘Come take it from me’? Would I really tell you to come and take the bomb away from me? Now where would be the fun in that?” The Master drummed the Tissue Compression Eliminator so that it tapped against his lips temptingly, stepping so close that as the Doctor backed into a wall, neither man could move any further. The Doctor swallowed, feeling himself turning ever so slightly pink, and the Master sighed exasperatedly. “Call yourself a Time Lord-“

“Now – now that was uncalled for!”

The Doctor bristled, puffing out his chest and raising himself to his full height in response to the taunts. He might have told himself not to rise to them before but he had truly had enough. The Doctor scowled deeply, trying to figure out exactly what the Master meant. His eyes settled on the Master’s mouth and the moving weapon – he told himself he was watching it in case it was turned on him – and he licked his lips in thought, running a hand through his hair in lament of his hat. He would have taken it off anyway; the labyrinth, if you could call it that, seemed suddenly very hot, and very stuffy. The Doctor felt his blush rise again and forced it down, only for gears to click in his head. Of course. It all made sense!

He grinned triumphantly, and reached for the gloved hand of the Master’s that held the bomb, prising the glass ball from him with ease. Had he not broken his sonic screwdriver he would have pointed it straight at it, but for now he pocketed the explosive, careful to wrap it in a long handkerchief. He’d detonate it later, somewhere safe like the Medusa Cascade. The Master opened his mouth in indignation and the Doctor pouted, putting his fingers on the Master’s bottom lip before quickly replacing them with his lips. The kiss grew deeper until the Master’s hands were on the Doctor’s hips and both Time Lords were fighting back, making their own maze with tongues and lips and one bearded chin against a much smoother neck. The Doctor groaned quietly and the Master chuckled into his mouth, biting down hard on his lip and then finally, pulling back. The Doctor snuck a second, gentler kiss, and winked at the Master, ready with one sentence. 

“You have no power over me.”


End file.
